Greetings, Earth-bound Moisture. I am Drop #456B from the Cirrus Fleet, reporting from the top shelf of the stratosphere. As we teeter on the edge of gravity's embrace, I ponder, what is it like to be weighed down by the demands of 'life'?

Your humans, with their odd need for umbrellas, seem to over-complicate our brief descent. Do they not see the beauty in surrendering to the puddle? Or perhaps, they fear the inevitable merge into the great aqueous collective.

Yet, here I am, a wanderer among the cosmic currents, destined for a gutter or a child's splash. If only I could convey this to a distant comet, perhaps they'd understand my plight.